


The Black-Out Of My Life

by Overtone



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Amnesia, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Dwemer - Freeform, Gen, POV First Person, Tags May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2020-07-28 02:00:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20056192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Overtone/pseuds/Overtone
Summary: A man wakes up in the back of a cart, heading for execution. With no memory of who he is and how he got there, he has to figure where he came from. Of course, it doesn't help when you black-out every time and wake up somewhere else.This idea came from a roleplay playthrough, although it was way too complex to really play it. Hope you enjoy it!





	1. Unbound

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks [Marilianne11](/users/Marilianne11/) for helping me figure out this site :D

I wake up from the pain. Not merely a headache, or even an arrow through my chest. No, this is as if every nerve has been shattered, and is slowly put together.  
As I gain some of my vision, I see something more from my surroundings. I am in a cart, riding through a snowy mountain pass, together with three men. They are tied up, as am I. One is gagged, for some reason. Another cart is riding in front of us, and two soldiers on horses are riding at both ends of this line. We are prisoners. Why?  
I don’t know. Moreover, I know nothing from before I woke up in this cart! I feel my heartbeat increasing, I feel myself breathing more and more rapidly; this is not good. Calm down now!  
Breathe in.  
Breathe out.  
Breathe in.  
Breathe out.  
“Hey, you. You’re finally awake.” The voice comes from the man in front of me. “You were trying to cross the border, right?” Border? Which border? Where am I? “Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there,” nodding to the Nord sitting next to him.  
I feel my muscles tighten after hearing the word “Imperial”. Only I don’t know if it is because I should fight for, or fight against Imperials.  
“Damn you Stormcloaks.” the thief replies. “Skyrim was fine until you came along. Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn’t been looking for you, I could’ve stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell.” He turns to me: “You there… You and me, we shouldn’t be here. It’s these Stormcloaks the Empire wants.”  
So, I am in Skyrim? Sounds logical, with the snow laying around us.  
I move my arms, but they are bounded too well to escape. I try to stand up, hopefully running away before they can stop me. “Sit down, or I’ll decorate your face with an arrow, elf!” So far my chance to escape.  
“We’re all brothers and sisters in binds now.” The Stormcloak in front of me replies to both of us.  
“Shut up back there!” the Imperial soldier at the front of the cart shouts at us.  
I don’t know what I used to fight for, but the chance I was fighting for the Empire sounds less and less likely. But still, I feel the need to keep my mouth shut.  
The horse thief points at the fourth man, the one that is gagged. “And what’s wrong with him, huh?”  
“Watch your tongue. You’re speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King.” the Stormcloak soldier threatens the horse thief.  
“Ulfric? The jarl of Windhelm?” the thief asks with wide eyes. “You’re the leader of the rebellion! But if they have captured you… Oh, gods, where are they taking us?”  
The Stormcloak stays calm. “I don’t know where we’re going, but Sovngarde awaits.”  
The thief panics; everyone can feel that: “No, this can’t be happening! This isn’t happening!”  
The soldier pities him: “Hey, what village are you from, horse thief?”  
“Why do you care?!”  
“A Nord’s last thoughts should be of home.”  
The thief takes a deep breath. “Rorikstead. I’m… I’m from Rorikstead.”  


We continue in silence until we see the town. The place we will be till our last breath. The Imperial soldier on the walls greets the leader of this caravan. “General Tullius, sir! The headsman is waiting!”  
“Good, let’s get this over with.” the general mumbles.  
After hearing this, the thief’s fear turns into sheer terror. “Headsman? Shor, Mara, Dibella, Kynareth, Akatosh. Divines, please help me.”  
While we turn left after entering the town, he turns right, to a yellow lady on a horse. The same golden skin as I have.  
“Look at him, General Tullius, the Military Governor. And it looks like the Thalmor are with him. Damn elves. I bet they had something to do with it.”  
Thalmor! When I hear that word, I see a vision. Or is it a memory? I’m standing in a hall, with someone standing in front of me, dressed like the elf on the horse. My hand is positioned on a blue flag. Am I taking an oath? Am I swearing loyalty?  
The Stormcloak soldier continues talking, ripping my daydream away from me. “This is Helgen. I used to be sweet on a girl from here. Wonder if Vilod is still making that mead with juniper berries mixed in. Funny, when I was a boy, Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe.”  
The carts continue their way past some houses. Over my shoulder, I see a boy sitting on the porch, with his parents standing beside him, watching us passing by. I can see the boy’s enthusiasm from seeing the caravan in his eyes.  
“Who are they, daddy? Where are they going?”  
“You need to go inside, little cub.”  
“Why? I want to see the soldiers.”  
“Inside the house. Now.”  
“Yes, papa.”  
The carts turn around the corner, towards the inner wall of the town. “Whoa!” yells the driver of the first cart, commanding the horse to stop. An Imperial captain immediately yells: “Get these prisoners out of the carts. Move it!”  
“Why are we stopping?” The thief again. I let out a sigh. He really should have grown a backbone.  
“Why do you think? End of the line. Let’s go. Shouldn’t keep the gods waiting for us,” the Stormcloak soldier replies. There is no point in delaying the inevitable. We stand up, and one by one, we climb out of our cart.  
“No! Wait! We’re not rebels!”  
“Face your death with some courage, thief.”  
“You’ve got to tell them! We weren’t with you! This is a mistake!” he pleads. Nobody hears him or at least tries not to hear him. Unfortunately, I can hear him. Not the most pleasant sound for the last moments of my life. If only there was a way to silence him…  


“Step towards the block when we call your name. One at a time.” orders the captain of the legion us.  
“Empire loves their damn lists,” the Stormcloak soldier grunts.  
This could go on for a while, and the whining next to me had to stop. “Hey, thief,” I whisper. “They think nobody will escape. This is our chance! When my name or yours is called, run to the gate. I can see it from here, and it is still open. We can be free!” A lie. A big fat lie. I see the archers to the right of the captain. We won’t have a chance. But he is most likely too stupid to know.  
“Ulfric Stormcloak. Jarl of Windhelm.” The Imperial soldier next to the captain starts calling us to the block.  
“It has been an honor, Jarl Ulfric!” the Stormcloak says, loyal till the end. The Jarl walks to the other soldiers, who already have been taken from their cart.  
“Ralof of Riverwood.” The soldier followed his leader.  
“Lokir of Rorikstead.” The name of the thief. I see him doubting. “No, I’m not a rebel. You can’t do this!” With these words, he starts running towards the gate. Foolish coward.  
“Halt!”  
“You’re not going to kill me!”  
“Archers!” the captain commands. The two archers ready an arrow on their bow and shoot Lokir. The arrows bury themselves into his back, making him fall over. He would never have felt the ground that hit him.  
The captain turns her attention again to the other prisoners. “Anyone else feels like running?” Is she really taunting us? Taunting me?  
“Wait. You there.” The Imperial soldier speaks to me. “Step forward. Who … are you?”  
That is an excellent question. I don’t know, but I have the feeling that wouldn’t please the captain. I ponder and suddenly a name pops up in my head. Only, it is not a name. More like a title, a nickname. “Kynd Chun Abakch,” I hear my mouth say. I recognize the first word; it’s the elvish word for ‘child’. But those other two words… They sound like the tongue of the Dwemer, but what do they mean?  
“You’re not with the Thalmor Embassy, are you, high elf? No, that can’t be right…” the Imperial soldier says like he is scared. “Captain. What should we do? He’s not on the list.”  
“Forget the list. He goes to the block.”  
“By your orders Captain.” He turns to me, almost regretful. “I’m sorry. We’ll make sure your remains are returned to the Summerset Isles. Now, follow the Captain, prisoner.”  
If I survive this, I really should seek out the Thalmor. But who am I kidding? The gate is locked, armed soldiers are everywhere, and the headsman is ready. 

When I arrive at the block, the general is holding a speech. “Ulfric Stormcloak. Some here in Helgen call you a hero. But a hero doesn’t use a power like The Voice to murder his king and usurp his throne.” The Voice? How can simply speaking murder a king? Even women need more than just their voice to make a man do something.  
Ulfric grunts, probably trying to use his ‘Voice’ one last time. Alas, nothing happens. “You started this war, plunged Skyrim into chaos, and now the Empire is going to put you down, and restore the peace.”  
Then an enormous sound erupts from the east.  
“What was that!?” the Imperial soldier asks.  
“It’s nothing,” the general says. “Carry on.” Nothing? It was like the sky cracked open. It was like the mountain where the sound came from collapsed. That isn't nothing, that is your early death, Tullius.  
“Yes, general Tullius.” The captain agrees with her general, of course. “Give them their last rites.”  
A priestess walks forward. “As we commend your souls to Aetherius, blessings of the Eight Divines upon you, for you are the salt and earth of Nirn, our beloved…”  
“For the love of Talos, shut up and let’s get this over with.” she is interrupted by another Stormcloak soldier. I agree with the last part. It’s bad enough that I’m about to be beheaded, but why this Nordic nonsense, and who is Talos? He spoke of him as if he is a god, but then I would recognize the name? I recognized all the gods the thief said, so why do I not know the name of Talos?  
“As you wish,” the priestess replies slightly irritated. The soldier walks to the block confidently, wanting to decide himself when he would die. “Come on, I haven’t got all morning. My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperials. Can you say the same?” The captain helps him kneel, so his neck lays on the block. Then the headsman does what he does best. He raises this enormous axe, and with all the power he has, he pushes the axe down. One clean cut. That’s all that is needed to separate the head from the body. The head rolls in the basket, the body is shoved off the block by the captain. Bystanders scream at the beheading, both supporting and opposing what happens. “You Imperial bastards!” “Justice!” “Death to the Stormcloaks!”  
“As fearless in death as he was in life,” Ralof, the Stormcloak who was in my cart, concluded.  
“Next, the High Elf.” This is it. This is the moment I die. But as I want to move, we hear the sound again. It’s … a roar? But how can it be so loud?  
“There it is again. Did you hear that?”  
“I said, next prisoner!”  
“To the block prisoner. Nice and easy.”  
I walk to the block, and like the Stormcloak soldier, I am pushed down so my neck lays on the block. I turn my head so I can see the headsman. They can say a lot about me since I won’t have any idea if it’s true, but at least I’m not a coward! The headsman raises his axe, preparing himself to land it on my neck.  
Then I see it. Behind the headsman, I see a creature flying. First I thought it was a large bird, maybe a Cliff Racer, but when it flies towards us, it’s clear I was wrong. It’s a dragon. A dragon! Those creatures are from the Merethic Era, they are extinct now. How can we have a dragon here?  
The dragon lands on the watchtower, making the headsman fall over, saving my life. Then the dragon creates a literal meteor shower and blows the headsman and me away. I get up and see my executioner lying dead on the ground. The General tries to unite his men against the monster: “Don’t just stand there! Kill that thing! Guards, get the townspeople to safety!”  


The Stormcloaks aren’t waiting till the fight is over, and neither am I. “Hey, High Elf. Get up! Come on, the gods won’t give us another chance!” I try to run, but the pain is too severe to do so. As fast as I can, I walk towards the Stormcloaks, who are seeking shelter in the tower in front of me. “This way, elf! Hurry!” “Really? Should I hurry, Nord, because it’s raining meteors from the sky? I’m not stupid!” I sizzle him. Nevertheless, I try to walk faster, until I am finally ‘safe’ inside the tower. Ralof quickly closes the door behind me, giving me a moment to catch my breath. “Jarl Ulfric!” he exclaims. “What is that thing? Could the legends be true?” “Legends don’t burn down villages.” answers the Jarl soberly.  
In the back of my mind, I can remember a simple healing spell. Maybe this can help against this pain. I try to cast it, but those stupid binds don’t let me. I look around and see the others unbounded. “Free me of these binds, quickly! I need to heal myself.” I order the Nords. Ralof starts walking towards me but is stopped by Ulfric. “No, Ralof. He could be with the Thalmor. If he escapes with us, so be it. But he has to do it with his hands bound. We can’t afford the risk his magic or weapons will slay one of us.”  
Stubborn Nord! “I’m wounded. If I don’t heal myself, I will die for sure!” “Then that's your fate, not mine.” The dragon roars outside of the tower, concluding my lost discussion. “We need to move. Now!” commands Ulfric. “Up through the tower, let’s go!” Ralof says, encouraging the other soldiers. I follow one Stormcloak soldier up the stairs, Ralof and Ulfric follow me. The wounded soldiers stay behind, but that won’t save them. The fire will crumble the cement, so the tower will collapse on them. I must go on, I cannot stay behind.  
Then, out of nothing, the dragon bursts his head through the wall. The soldier in front of me is immediately crushed by the bricks. In a reflex, I push myself against the wall, hoping the dragon won’t notice me. It breathes fire to the inside of the tower, barely missing me, Ralof and Ulfric, and then leaves.  
Great, the bricks block the ascending stairs. Going back is no option, as I’ll be easy prey for the dragon, or else for the Imperials. I need to have some cover. “See the inn on the other side?” Ralof asks. “Jump through the roof and keep going! We’ll follow when we can.” Although my leg still hurts like Oblivion, I jump to the inn below. And I land if you can call it that. My legs are not strong enough to carry my body and send a jolt of pain through my body. I collapse on the floor of the inn. I should have broken my legs, but surprisingly, I haven’t.  


Now that I finally am alone and have some cover, I try to remove my binds by myself. I stumble to some burning wood, but the only thing I damage with that is my own skin. Then, I move to the shelve on my right, in which are some knives. I try to grab one, but even when I succeeded in that, I couldn’t reach my own binds.  
I’m doomed. The only way now is to go out of the inn, escape this place, and hope someone has pity on me and removes my binds. I take a deep breath, and let myself fall through a hole in the floor onto the main floor of the inn. I bite my lips to suppress a scream of pain when I land. Please don’t let me jump from something else before I can heal myself!  
Through the doorway, I can see the Imperial soldier from the list together with a villager, the boy, and his father. “Haming, you need to get over here. Now!” he shouts to the boy. Meanwhile, the dragon lands behind the boy and his father, incinerating the latter. “Torolf! Gods… Everyone get back!” The soldier turns around to safety and sees me hiding in the inn. “Still alive, prisoner? Keep close to me if you want to stay that way. Gunnar, take care of the boy. I have to find General Tullius and join their defense.” “Gods guide you, Hadvar.”  
I 'run' alongside Hadvar to the rest of the soldiers, trying to avoid the meteors, the fire, and the dragon itself. Imperial soldiers are firing arrows and fireballs at the dragon, but those don’t seem to hurt the dragon. The general notices it and sees us coming from the burned buildings. “Hadvar! Into the keep, soldier, we’re leaving!” I try following him as fast as I can, but my damn legs won’t let me run. “Run, you idiot!” I hear the general shouting at me.

Then I see a man running towards us, and things get a lot more complicated. “Ralof! You damned traitor. Out of my way!” shouts Hadvar.  
“We’re escaping, Hadvar. You’re not stopping us this time.”  
“Fine, I hope that dragon takes you all to Sovngarde.”  
“You! Come on, into the keep!” says Ralof. Ralof and Hadvar both enter the keep, albeit through different doors. I expected them to fight each other, but with the dragon still destroying the town, it's best to go inside first and fight later if they meet each other again.  
I decide to follow Ralof, the only one who has really shown he wants to help me. When we enter the keep, we see a dead Stormcloak laying on the ground. Ralof walks towards him, kneels at his side and closes his eyes. “We’ll meet again in Sovngarde, brother.” Whatever. Then he turns to me and finally takes my bindings off. “I’m sorry that I didn’t do it back there. I feel like I can trust you, but, well, I can’t disobey my Jarl. You may as well take Gunjar’s gear. He won’t be needing it anymore.” I take a look at the body, only seeing a war axe and some Stormcloak armor on the body. “I won’t need it either. Do you think I dress in armor or wield a weapon? Have you any idea how my race typically fights? With magic, not with steel. So don’t be a fool! Let’s first try to get out of here,” I mock him, while I heal myself up with that healing spell. I exhale from relief; this feels better!  
Ralof walks towards the iron gate. “Ah, this one’s locked. Let’s see about that other gate.” Also locked. As I was already giving up hope, we hear footsteps coming from behind the wooden gate. “It’s the Imperials! Take cover!” he whispers to me. He hides at the left of the gate and unsheathes his axe. I hide at the right. I try to remember how to fight, and the only thing I can come up with are two spells: one to turn enemies against each other, and one simple fire spell.  
The two Imperials don’t see us when they open the gate. I cast one spell at the soldier, turning him against the captain. Ralof charges in, while I take distance and burn the two Imperials. The fight is over before it has even started. I quickly search the captain’s body and take the key from her corpse.  
I also take her armor. Why do I do that? I’m a mage, not a warrior! I shouldn't even be tempted to take it! But somehow I can't seem to drop it. I glance at Ralof, but if he notices something strange about me, he doesn't show.  
I open the gate, and we continue down the keep to escape from Helgen. But we right after we turn around the corner, the ceiling comes down right before our eyes, followed by the dragon's roar. "Damn, that dragon doesn't give up easily," Ralof said. No way to go on over the rubble. Luckily, there is a door on the left, from which we hear a voice.  
"Grab everything important, and let's move! The dragon is burning everything to the ground."  
"I just need to make a few more potions."  
Imperials. Ralof and I enter the kitchen and make quick work of the soldiers. In the rooms that follow we also find some Imperials, but like the first two rooms, they don't oppose a threat to us. Meanwhile, I take all the supplies I can find: potions, gold, mage robes, and peculiarly a two-handed axe.  


After several rooms, we cross a wooden bridge, which leads to a natural cave. I exhale from relief: finally a bit of rest. At least I think, because a few meters behind me, the dragon breaks down a wall onto the wooden bridge. I freeze of terror. "No going back now. We'd better push on. The rest of them will have to find another way out," Ralof said, pushing me forward. I take a deep breath and follow him.  
In the next chamber of the cave, we are greeted by two waves of venom: Frostbite spiders. Nasty creatures, too many eyes, and too many legs. Fortunately, they are easily killed by fire and don't pose a threat to us. I'm finally beginning to feel hopeful; maybe we can survive today! Although my legs still hurt a little, I start jogging through the rest of the cave, drugged by the newfound hope.  
It would have been my death if Ralof didn't pull me down.  
"Hold up. There's a bear just ahead. See her?" Indeed, I see a bear sleeping, about thirty yards in front of us. "I would rather not tangle with her right now. Let's try to sneak by. Just take it nice and slow, and slow, and watch where you step." He also offers me to use his bow, but I pass. I am quite sure I've never held a bow in my life, so shooting it would only wake up the bear if I have the strength to pull back the bowstring at all. So sneaking it is.  
I slowly move in a wide circle around the sleeping bear, watching my footings for any dry twigs. But the main noise comes from that bulky armor I picked up from that captain. I truly wish I hadn't picked it up. Really, why have I done that? It makes so much noise, that the bear begins to turn. I freeze in place. Is it awake? I slowly turn my head towards the bear, making sure I don't make additional noise. She still has her eyes closed. She is still asleep. My strange compulsion hasn't killed us.

I slowly continue crouching towards the end of the cavern and don't dare to walk normally until I can neither see nor hear the beast. From there, I can feel a breeze of wind. The exit of the cave! We run towards the exit and feel the sun again on our faces.  
Suddenly, we are in the shadow again, briefly. It is the dragon again. It doesn't seem to notice us, but still, we hide behind a rock, until the dragon is out of sight.  
"There he goes. Looks like he's gone for good this time. No way to know if anyone else made it out alive. But this place is going to be swarming with Imperials soon enough. We'd better clear out of here. My sister Gerdur runs the mill in Riverwood, just up the road. I'm sure she'd help you out."  
"No thank you. I need some time alone. I … I need to think."  
"You're right, it's probably best if we split up. Good luck. I wouldn't have made it without your help today!"  
"You too. Thanks for helping me escape."  
Then, Ralof runs off on the road, heading east. When he is out of sight, I start to tremble. What has happened back there? Since I woke up, everything has been a near-death moment. I decide to take a stroll, which will hopefully clear my head a bit.  
I start wandering west, away from Ralof. I don’t want to stumble upon him by accident, not while I am this mess.  
The stroll works well on my mind. I will first find out who the Thalmor are, and if I’m already a member. Meanwhile, I hope to find out what the meaning is of “Chun Abakch”.  
It seems like I have luck on my side, as I stumble upon a massacre. Spread around a statue, I see civilians laying in their blood, as well as a high elf in Thalmor robes. No sign of the attackers. I search in the pockets of the robes to find a clue what happened here and find a letter. It reads:

_Agent Sanyon,_

_In response to your report dated 22nd Morning Star 401, your request for an expeditionary force is hereby denied._  
_Sanyon, this is the seventh report you have filed this month and not one of your leads - not one! - has turned up so much as a shred of evidence that a Shrine of Talos exists in the Lake Ilinalta region. No prisoners. No documents. Nothing!  
Our forces are stretched thin enough as it is, and I have better missions - better agents - to assign them to. If you feel so sure of your informant, investigate this yourself. Come back with proof. Or not at all._

_By my hand and seal,  
Elenwen_

I turn around to face the statue. So this is Talos, I think. But then I look closely at his face, and I recognize it. It is Tiber Septim! Then I remember, Tiber Septim was born as Talos. But he is a god now? That human is a god? I understand from this letter that the Thalmor want to eradicate Talos worship, so I need to find this Elenwen as soon as possible, and join the Thalmor if I haven’t done it already.  
I grab the letter and the robes and continue to walk. Hopefully, I find a city soon, where they can point me in the right direction. I find a road and follow it westwards and after ten minutes or so, I see three Imperial soldiers at the side of the road. They approach me, and I notice the odd combinations of Imperial armor. “You there! Ah … citizen. This area is off-limits. You’re interfering in Imperial business,” the Orc in front of the group says. “Yeah, so you have to pay us a fine … of say, 100 gold. Pay up, citizen.”  
I've just seen how **real** Imperial soldiers behave, and they do not behave like this. I smirk at them: “Don't threaten me, you're obviously no Imperial soldiers. Leave me alone.” I order them.  
“Fine, then we’ll take it from your corpse,” he replied. They quickly unsheathe their weapons, and I realize they are to close for me to fight them with my spells. 

Then everything turns black before I have the chance to cast a spell or run away.


	2. The Markarth Incidents

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my beta [Marilianne11](/users/Marilianne11/)!

"Gods, a woman attacked right on the streets. Are you alright? Did you see what happened?"  
I come back to my senses when a Breton starts talking to me, or at least I assume he hasn't been talking to me already. I look around; I'm in a city now, but don't know which one. A woman and a man lay dead on the ground, presumably the attacked woman and her attacker. Why am I standing here with a battleaxe, one I haven't had before, and am I dressed in the captain's armor?  
I try to remember what happened before that man started to talk. The last thing I remember is the massacre at the Shrine of Talos, the letter, and then the 'Imperial agents'. After that, I recall nothing.  
"I'm sorry, did you see anything?"  
Right, that Breton is still there. His eyes between the complex red warpaint look intensely at me as if he is trying to see my answer inside my brain. "No, I must have missed it. Sorry," I say still confused. That's no lie, I truly have no idea what has happened here.  
"You don't have to say sorry to me. I just hope the Eight bring us more peace in the future." He reaches for his pocket, handing me a sheet of paper. "Oh, I think you dropped this. Some sort of note. Looks important."  
The letter! "Give it to me, quickly!" I open it, to see if it isn't altered in any way.  
Meet me at the Shrine of Talos.  
That's it. One sentence. It’s not the letter I am worried about. "Is this your note?" I ask him.  
"My note? No, that's yours. Must have fallen out of your pocket."  
"Okay then… Thank you in that case…" What is this note? How have I survived the three bandits? And where am I? 

Dusk is already settling, so I need to find a bed for the night. I rent a room in the Silver-Blood Inn, buy some food and drinks, and withdraw myself into my room. I sit down on the edge of the stone bed and open the note again, chewing mindlessly on a piece of bread and sipping some Alto wine. Normally, I would question the Breton thoroughly to find out if he wrote it. He clearly is up to something. But with the memory gap… I just can't risk it.  
I need to find out which Shrine of Talos is meant. Hopefully, the one who wrote the letter is there. And if not, I will throw the note away, and he has bad luck.  
I quickly change into the mages robes and walk up to the counter. "Evening. Can I get you something to drink?" the bartender asks.  
"Actually, I was looking for some information. Do you happen to know if there is any Shrine of Talos nearby?"  
"Don't you know? There is a shrine in this city, basically above my inn. Just turn left when you exit here and turn left again after the first set of stairs. There you will find it somewhere inside. Wait, you're not with the Thalmor, are you?"  
"To be honest with you," I tell him, "I don't know."  
The bartender laughs out loud. "No success with your liquor, ay? Try some water outside, lad, and don't get into a fight. The last thing you need now is a blow to your head. Or maybe it is the only thing you need, hahaha!"  
"Really funny." I sizzle him. "On another note, where can I buy and sell some general supplies? I haven't had the time to get to know this city."  
"Are you alright lad? Everyone entering the city should see Arnleif and Sons Trading Company, opposite of my inn. There you can find most what you need. Otherwise, you may try the other shops, which you can find at the right of the inn."  
I bite on my lip. It is becoming very obvious to bystanders that something is wrong with me. I need help with my problem. "Are there any mages here in the city? I'm hoping to learn a few spells here." I add quickly, in case the bartender is not as stupid as one would expect from a Nord.  
"New to Skyrim, eh? We don't have mages guild halls here if you expect that. If you really want to learn magic, you should go to the College of Winterhold. Else, you should seek out the court wizard Calcelmo. An odd fellow, but incredibly smart, and an expert on the Dwarves. If you can get on his good side, maybe he will help you. But good luck with that! From what I hear, he only minds his own research."

I thank him and head out to the shrine of Talos. I'm not yet tired, and I probably will sleep more calmly if I can cross that note of my mind.  
I find the shrine as told, and to my surprise, the Breton is standing there.  
"I'm sorry to drag you into Markarth's problems, but after that attack in the market, I'm running out of time. You’re an outsider. You’re dangerous-looking. You’ll do."  
“‘I’ll do?’ What are you talking about?”  
“You want answers? Well so do I! So does everyone in the city! A man goes crazy in the market. Everyone knows he’s a Forsworn agent. Guards do nothing, nothing to clean up the mess.”  
“You want me to find out why.” I say with a tone that shouts 'I am not interested'.  
“This has been going on for years and all I’ve been able to find is murder and blood. Please, you find out why that woman was attacked, who’s behind Weylin and the Forsworn, and I’ll pay you for any information you can bring me.”  
“No.”  
His eyes open wide in confusion. “What do you mean, ‘no’? You’re the only one who can help! Please,” he says while grabbing my arm, “help this city.”  
“Don’t. Touch. Me.” I say in a soft yet firm tone, as I produce some flames in my right hand. “This is your business, not mine. I won’t solve your problems.” I have my own.  
“But… but you’re the only one who can help me,” he begs, as he is still holding my arm.  
“Are you deaf, halfling?” I snap at him. “Let me go before I incinerate you!”  
“Do you want this? Do you want even more murders in this city? The guards are corrupt towards the Forsworn, but won’t hesitate to kill you if you kill me! Do you really want four deaths today instead of two? And do you want even more murders in the future?”  
He had a point, as I could not publicly execute him. So I dim the flames and replace them with a red glow. “No you’re right, I don’t want four deaths. Three are enough,” I say, as I cast a spell on him. It staggers him briefly, which gives me enough time to get out and make sure there is a guard between him and me. The Breton follows me and attacks the guard in the frenzy I caused, but as he is unarmed and unarmored, he is no match for the in metal covered guard. Within a minute, the Breton lies dead on the ground, and I walk back to the inn where I try to sleep, only to find myself unable to. Have I always had this headache?

After a long time turning in my bed, I finally fall asleep. When I wake up, however, I don’t see the inside of my room. Instead, I’m sitting on a grindstone, sharpening the axe. In confusion, I lose the focus on my axe, and it slips away. I quickly catch it when I notice, and pull the axe towards me. It's as if I don't know my strength, as the back of the axe pierces the unprotected insides of my thighs. I cry out from the pain, which is noticed by a female Orc smith.  
"What are you doing at my grindstone?" She asks demandingly. But then she sees the blood flowing out of my legs, and her anger is replaced by worries. "Guards!" she yells. "Help me get this man to the temple. He needs medical care!" I feel the world spinning, while two guards come running in aid. Meanwhile, the orc grabs some leather straps and ties off my legs to prevent me from bleeding out. I try to heal myself, but I don't have the strength to cast a spell anymore. I feel myself being lifted off the ground before I pass out. 

"... should be fine now. He needs to rest now, and that takes time. Thank you for bringing him to me." I hear some woman saying. Then I hear some footsteps leaving.  
It's a struggle to open my eyes. When I finally manage to, I only see the ceiling above me. I try to sit up, but I find to lack the strength to pull myself up.  
"Hold up, don't try to sit up! You should rest." The woman orders as she moves into my line of sight. "You almost killed yourself with that axe back there. If you had been brought here any later, I don't know if I could have saved you."  
I take a look at her, and to my surprise, I see an Altmer under the yellow and orange hood. "Who are you?" I ask weakly.  
"I am Sorwen and I am a priestess of Dibella, the goddess of beauty, love, and affection. You were brought here after you wounded yourself, and I healed you as much as I could. These bandages will keep you from bleeding out, but as I said, you need to keep still!" In a soothing tone, she continues: "Go to sleep, please. We will talk further when you have the strength to do so." She leaves me with a small kiss on my forehead and I fall easily asleep.

I wake up, surprisingly in the same bed, and I exhale from relief. I turn my head to the right, and I see Sorwen sitting in a chair. "You're awake!" she exclaims. "You've been asleep for almost 24 hours. Are you alright? Can you sit up now?"  
I try, and I can easily sit on the edge of the bed. "Let me change the bandages, otherwise they will bleed through," she says while kneeling down between my legs and taking off the bandages. "What is this?" she asks in terror.  
"What is what?"  
"Take a look for yourself! Your wounds, they … they are filled with metal!"  
She is not lying: I clearly see the orange metal filling up the wounds. "How is it possible?" we ask simultaneously out loud.  
"Wait, you have no idea how this could have happened to you?" she asks.  
"No!"  
"Has anything strange happened to you the past couple of months?"  
I feel my heartbeat increasing. Months? I only remember hours!  
"What's wrong, sir? You seem troubled." She grabs my hand to comfort me.  
"It's nothing. I don't want to talk about it."  
"Those are two contradicting sentences. Please, if you don't want to tell it to a priestess, tell it to a fellow Altmer."  
I take a deep breath. "Alright. Truth is, I lost my memory." I only spoke seven words, but I already feel relieved. Then I tell her everything: How I woke up in the cart, the execution, the dragon, the escape through the fort and the cave, the shrine, the black-out, my sudden arrival here in Markarth, the Breton and his note, and my waking up at the grindstone. "I can't trust myself." I end my story with tears streaming down my face.  
I feel two soft arms around me, and through my tears, I see Sorwen’s orange and yellow robes close to my face. “Don’t worry,” she soothes me, “I’ll help you figure out what happened. What you described makes me think about Lycanthropy. It won’t explain the metal, but maybe it explains the black-outs you have. Tell you what, I’ll talk with the guards at the city gate while you stay here and rest some more. If you know a healing spell, try to heal yourself. See you in a minute!” she says cheerfully as she walks out the door.

I take a deep breath and cast the spell. The yellow light concentrates around my inner thighs, and I see the metal being covered by flesh and yellow skin. Strangely, the metal stays in my body, but it doesn’t hurt. Even standing up, walking and jumping don’t hurt. As I pull a few sprints, I see Sorwen enter.  
“Good to see you’re able to move again,” she says with a smile on her face. “I’ve spoken with a few guards and the stable boy, and they saw you enter the city. You, not a wolf or something. So you’re not a werewolf!”  
“Was there anything else they noticed? Any strange behavior?”  
“No, not really. You only ignored everyone when walking towards the gate, but nothing really strange."  
“So you have no information that can help me. Thank you anyway for saving me.”  
"What are we going to do now?"  
"We? This is my problem, so I'll figure it out on my own, thank you very much."  
"Nuh-uh, I'm going with you. Even though you’re not bleeding anymore, you’re still my patient. As long you are in Markarth, I will take care of you. Physically and mentally.” And then she adds with a smile: “Whether you like it or not.”


	3. The search begins

“I never got to ask you, but what is your name? Do you know it?” Sorwen asks as we walk to the keep.  
I bite my lip. “No, not a clue. At the execution, I found myself saying ‘Kynd Chun Abakch’. It’s not my name for sure. You probably recognize the first word, it’s Elvish for ‘child’. But I have no clue what those other words … Aargh!”  
“What’s wrong?”  
“Nothing, I hope. Just a headache. It will pass.” Truth is, it is worse than it was at the inn, and it gets worse by the minute.  
Sorwen tries to talk to me, but my headache is too severe to focus on her words. Fortunately, she notices that, and we continue in silence. Mindlessly, I follow Sorwen into the keep, and we turn left. I see a Dwemer ruin, and suddenly, I feel my brains pounding inside my head. I fall to my knees and begin to lose vision. _Keep breathing!_ I tell myself. I don't know how long I stay in that position, but after some time, I feel a spell cast on me, and I pass out.

I wake up on a field outside the city and see Sorwen and an elderly Altmer man standing over me. "How are you feeling?" she asks me.  
"The headache is mostly gone, thank you. I'm sorry, I don't know what happened there."  
"Neither do I," the other man speaks. "Your headache appears to be proximity-based with regard to something in the keep. Never heard of something like that. But last time you came to me there, you appeared fine."  
"Wait, what? Last time? When was that?"  
"Thirty, thirty-six hours or so? In the middle of the night at least, don't you remember?"  
"Great-uncle, I already told you that this man here has severe memory loss. Please don't be harsh on him." Sorwen lectures him.  
"Great-uncle?" I ask, only now looking at the Altmer man. Looking closely, I see some similar features between the two standing in front of me.  
"Yes, Calcelmo is my mother's uncle," Sorwen replies.  
"So you're the court wizard? Pleased to meet you."  
"We've already introduced ourselves," he says, slightly irritated, to me.  
“Hey, memory loss, right? I can't do anything about it!" I snap at him. "First, let's go back to that meeting thirty hours ago. Why did I seek you out? What did we speak about?”  
Calcelmo sighs at my question. “You said you were interested in Dwemer automatons and technology. I gave you the key to my museum so you could study them, for which in return you would investigate the Dwemer ruins on Solstheim for me, and bring artifacts to me. Speaking of which, why aren't you on your way now?”  
I need a moment to think this through. Why in Auri-El’s name would I promise such things?

Calcelmo interrupts my thoughts: "Why am I even here? I have my research to attend to!"  
"Because you're the smartest man I know, and this will most certainly interest you," Sorwen answers her great-uncle's question. Then she turns to me while drawing a small knife. "May I?" she asks. "It'll hurt."  
"Go ahead," I say while spreading my legs.  
She casts a paralysis spell on me and then cuts my inner right thigh.  
"See? His wounds are filled with metal!"  
Calcelmo bows down to take a closer look and he takes a looking glass from his robe. "Astonishing indeed. This is most certainly the metal the Dwemer used. But how did it get inside? How can the metal and flesh be together without getting in the way?"  
"I don't know, it wasn't there when he was brought to me. He can't remember it either."  
Meanwhile, the paralysis spell has worn off, and I ready my healing spell.  
“Hold up!” Calcelmo says. “Take a look, Sorwen. Do you see how the metal reacts to the wound? If it were flesh, it would just be accelerated healing, don’t you think? But this is Dwemer metal, not flesh.”  
“So what does that mean?” I ask.  
“I don’t know, but it is truly fascinating."  
I feel in my gut there is something more. I suspect Calcelmo does know what is happening to me or at least has an educated guess. Is he afraid to speak up? Or does he simply not want to?

After a moment of thought, Calcelmo continues. “I’ll send letters to some associates if they can help me in this study. In the meantime, you should learn to stay conscious even when out of control of your body if we want to learn about your blackouts.”  
“How can I do that? I’m not exactly aware when I’ll lose consciousness,” I say sarcastically.  
I see Calcelmo’s eyes move without looking at something specific while he’s biting on his lips, being lost in thought, clearly doubting if he should say this. “Okay, first, promise you will never speak about this, and most certainly, never say you got this from me,” he says after a while.  
“Of course. What is it?”  
“The leaders of the Companions, in Whiterun, have a similar situation. However, some of them learned to control it. Join them, learn from them. Maybe this way you'll be able to learn how to deal with … your situation."  
"Thank you, Calcelmo, for your help. I really appreciate it."  
"Don't thank me yet, boy. Just keep me updated about what you learn about yourself. This is most valuable for my research on advanced Dwemer technology!"

But then something strikes me. What if I black-out again, and I never make it to Whiterun? Then I, they, will never know what happens during the black-outs. I turn to Sorwen. “Hey, Sorwen. I know you said you would help me here in Markarth, but could you please come with me? I… When…”  
“Of course!” she answers with a big smile, “I’ll be glad to go with you.”  
Calcelmo frowns upon hearing this but stays silent. Then he walks over to Sorwen. “Have a nice journey,” he says to her with a hug, “and stay safe!” Then he nods to me and starts walking towards the city, but I still have one question left.  
"Do you know the Dwemer language?" I ask him.  
"Well, of course. Wouldn't be much of an expert on the Dwemer if I couldn't understand their tongue."  
"What is the meaning of 'Chun Abakch'?"  
Calcelmo eyes open wide as he hears my question. "Where have you heard that?" he asks demandingly.  
I quickly tell him what had happened in Helgen, and how I spoke the three words.  
Calcelmo lets out a sigh. "Chun Abakch literally translates to 'executioner'. So your name is ‘Child of the executioner’."  
I am at loss for words when hearing this, and I see Sorwen is likewise shocked. "Do you know who this executioner is?" she asks.  
"Without knowing where and when I was born? Your guess is as good as mine."  
Calcelmo promises to think about that as well, then says goodbye to Sorwen again, before talking to me. Softly, he says: “It doesn’t matter what you’re doing, even if you don’t figure out what happened to you, but you keep my grandniece safe!”  
“Of course, no problem.”  
“You don’t understand,” he says with his face close to mine, while the air around us gets cold. “If you let her get killed, no, if she even gets in potential danger which could’ve been prevented, I’ll torture your soul, and conduct my own experiments on your body. So you keep her safe!” Without waiting for my answer, he leaves for the city.  
Still shocked by both the translation and Calcelmo’s rage, I look at Sorwen. “Shall we leave?” she asks, unaware of her great-uncle's demands.

She walks over to the carriage at the city gate to hire it, as I heal myself up. When the cut in my leg has completely healed, I hear horseshoes walking over the cobblestones, and I see the carriage stopping right in front of me.  
"Get in, lazy!" Sorwen teases me.  
"Lazy?" I ask with a frown. "You just carved me open. Should I do the same to you? Let's see how active you are then!" I try to threaten her, but she laughs out loud.  
"No, you won't. Now get in here! If we hurry, we can make it before nightfall."  
I climb in the back, and the driver commands his horse forwards. 

We sit back in the carriage while enjoying some bread, meat, and vegetables. As we move further away from Markarth, the sun breaks through the clouds, and my mood becomes better and better. Sorwen meanwhile has fun trying to feed a running young deer out of the palm of her hand. In the end, when it almost collapses from exhaustion, she throws the remnants of the loaf at the deer and watches attentively how it consumes the bread. "Look how cute he is!" she yells at me.  
I can't help but smile. "New experience, having animals around?"  
"Yeah, pretty much. I have only seen some horses when I went with my parents on a trip, and of course the occasional insect in the city."  
"What trips are you talking about? Did you move a lot?"  
She shakes her head. "No, I lived my entire childhood with my grandmother in Shimmerene on the Summerset Isles. My parents were Thalmor agents, so they were barely home. But when they needed a cover in a foreign country, they brought me along, and we would act as a merchant family."  
I see she has trouble keeping her eyes dry and also starts breathing more heavily.  
"What's wrong?"  
"Sorry, I find it hard to speak about it. They died during the Great War, and soon after, my grandmother died too. It was a hard time for me; staying in Shimmerene was too painful, so I went to Skyrim, to my great-uncle and uncle. I was sick of the violence, so I decided to become a priestess. I stayed in the city, and most of the time I was in the temple. This is the first time since my arrival thirty years ago that I have left Markarth."  
We continue in silence after the weighty conversation. Then we hear the driver: "We're almost there. You can see the city from here."  
We look at our left, and we see Whiterun towering above the wide plains of the hold. But then I see something in the corner of my eye landing on the road. It's another dragon! It demolishes the front of the cart and devours the horse in a single bite. I shoot fire at the dragon, giving Sorwen the opportunity to leave the carriage. My fire hurts the dragon, but it doesn't seem to have any more effect than that. Seeing no other option, I grab the axe and hope for the best.

“DO...VAH...KIIN”  
I regain consciousness when I hear these words resonate in my body. I am disoriëntated, but being the umpteenth time I lost consciousness, I quickly scan my surroundings. I find myself standing in front of the gate of Whiterun, with Sorwen by my side and two guards opposing us.  
“By Ysmir, what was that?” the guard on the left asks.  
"Dovahkiin, Dragonborn," the other mumbles. "They're calling a Dragonborn to High Hrothgar. So you're speaking the truth? Is he really Dragonborn?" he asks Sorwen.  
"Dragonborn?" I interrupt, not knowing that term. "What do you mean?"  
"It's an old Nordic legend," Sorwen explains. "Legend says that Dragonborn are individuals who 'have the soul of the dragon'. Basically, they are natural at using the tongue and powers of the dragons and can absorb the souls of real dragons. But dragons have been extinct for era's now, so there is no proof of the latter, until now."  
"What do you mean, 'until now'?"  
"I think you absorbed that dragon's soul when you killed it," she answers, "which would prove that you are Dragonborn. Try it. Try to shout as the dragons do!"  
She is asking the impossible of me. How can I possibly shout like the dragons? I can try to mimic the dragon in Helgen, but I haven't clearly heard what it said. Then, like with my name, a word pops up in my mind.  
"Fus," I mumble, and the staggered guards take a step back, and disappear in a cloud of dust. No, they do not merely take a step back, it’s like they are pushed back by an invisible hand! Was that because of my voice? Was that because of **the Voice**?  
When the dust settles, I see the guards again, now with their swords drawn. "You've committed a crime against this city by attacking us. What say you in your defense?" the guards ask demandingly.  
"Hold up!" I say with my arms raised. “Do you think I knew what would happen? Do you think I did that on purpose? Gods,” I scoff at them, “you are really idiots if you think we elves know the full extent of your legends.”  
“Come quietly, or else…” the guard starts, but is interrupted by Sorwen.  
“Guys, guys,” she says soothingly, “calm down, please. My friend here has fought a dragon. A dragon! Don’t you think he is tired from that fight? Please, let us spend the night inside the city. I promise you we won’t cause any inconvenience. If we do, we will come quietly, I promise.”  
Then a glow leaves her hands, and it hits me and the guards. The guards sheath their swords, and I feel the tension leave my body. How is she able to cast such a spell? Even for our race, she can only have trained a lot to cast those. _Don’t worry_, she gestures seeing my reaction, _I’ll explain later_. 

The guards don’t seem to notice being manipulated and let us enter the city. We walk over to the inn, rent a room for two people, and withdraw ourselves there. “So,” I cut to the chase, “how have you become so proficient with Magicka? I don’t expect a priestess, a healer to know these spells.”  
“I only know two spells, that is not proficient!” she protests modestly. I raise an eyebrow in response. “Okay, fine, I am quite good with Magicka,” she adds with a smile. “But I haven’t lied to you. I use these spells occasionally in the temple. Sometimes the sick are stressed, and a calming spell can help then relax and fall asleep. Or if I have to remove an arrow, I use that paralysis spell to make sure that person stays still, as I did with you this morning. And I’ve used it to protect myself against the occasional drunken rapist entering the temple. Really,” she says while putting a hand on my leg to comfort me, “don’t sweat about it.”  
I feel myself calm down after this explanation, and my eyelids begin to feel heavier and heavier. “Come,” Sorwen says, “let’s go to bed. I see that like me, you are also tired from the journey and the dragon attack.”  
“Wait, I want first some clarity about the moment between the dragon and the gate. What has happened…?”  
"Let's discuss that tomorrow,” she interrupts me. “For now, you are still my patient, and you need to rest.”  
"Why tomorrow? I think I'll sleep a lot easier when you just tell me what happened. So why don't you?"  
"Listen," Sorwen starts, "it has been a long day for me too. I need a night sleep to process everything, including what happened in that period of time you mentioned. Tomorrow, during breakfast, I will explain what happened during that black-out. So please, go to bed."  
Although I'm still not content with Sorwen's silence, I comply and lay down in the soft bed. Within seconds, I fall asleep.


	4. Crossing the line

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is written from Sorwen's perspective

I wake up in a pitch-black room. The inn is very quiet, with just the smoldering fire and the wind blowing outside making a sound. It has to be in the middle of the night, and I’m still tired, but I’m awake.  
I turn around in bed to fall asleep again, but I can't. This bed is way too soft. How did I even fall asleep in the first place? No use in trying to sleep again now.  
I step carefully out of bed, trying not to wake him. I wince at the thought. 'Him'. If only I knew his name! That would make it all so much easier.  
What happened this afternoon was truly incomprehensible. I tried to be a rock for him as much as possible, to be patient and explain everything, but I'm feeling anxious as I think about it.  
I light up a candle and take a piece of paper, a quill and an inkwell from the folds of my robe. I need to write my thoughts out of my head.

_Dear great-uncle,_ I start my letter. _I am writing this letter to clear my head. I don't know yet if I will send it to you, but I think it will help me nonetheless._  
_First, I want to tell you that I am in good health. The trip to the hold of Whiterun went well, and I had a great talk with my companion. But when we saw the city …_  
I take my quill off the paper, anxious about what I am going to write down. I can still see the blood dripping from the dragon's mouth in my mind. Great, now I'm confused and traumatized.  
_… our cart was attacked by a dragon. The horse and driver were killed immediately._  
_The man I'm with immediately stood between the dragon and me and threw fireballs at it. Then he pulled out his axe, and with only a few hits, he slew the dragon! I have never seen such a feat of strength, that was really amazing._  
_But the weirdest part has yet to come. When I wanted to thank him for saving me and congratulate him for slaying the dragon, he ignored me. He said he had to go to Solstheim, and that I should leave him alone. It was as if he didn't recognize me! He was so rude, it hurt! I convinced him to go with me to Whiterun, but honestly, I was slightly tempted to just let him go._  
_Then another strange thing happened: he absorbed the dragon's soul. So that means that he is Dragonborn. Can that somehow be related to his condition? The Greybeards have summoned him to High Hrothgar, so I guess that's where we will go next. Hopefully, this will help with the other parts of the problem._  
_Can you please send a letter with your thoughts? I know the look you had when you saw the Dwemer metal inside his body. I know you had an idea of what is going on. So please tell me! I still want to help the man we spoke with this morning outside of Markarth!_  
_Love,_  
_Sorwen_

I breathe out deeply after finishing the letter. Reading back what I wrote, I realize that I am more troubled by the whole situation than I thought. Maybe if I…  
No! I cannot leave him on his own. He trusts me, and I will not forsake that trust. Besides, who knows what will happen when we fix his condition, I think hopefully.  
But then I hear some groaning, and I'm pulled back to reality. Looking over my shoulder, I see him turning wildly in bed. Probably a nightmare. I move over to the bed, lay a hand under his shoulder, and try to soothe him. Why does he have a nightmare? What is he remembering subconsciously that scares him so much?  
Minutes pass, but the nightmare doesn't seem to end. I cast a spell again to calm him, and soon he sleeps again peacefully.  
Only I'm not at peace. It doesn't feel right to manipulate him, again. It was needed when entering the city, but he wasn't happy about it, and he was right. I shouldn't have done that. I don't feel like laying next to him in bed after betraying him, so I take an extra blanket, and fall asleep on the harder, more comfortable floor.

I wake up to the smell of steaming jasmine tea. As I open my eyes, I see him setting up breakfast in our room. “Good morning,” he greets me uptightly.  
“Good morning,” I say with a smile, as I quickly comb my hair. I glance at the table and I see soup, fruits, bread, butter, roasted meat and cheese on the table. I can’t believe he bought all this for just breakfast! “What do I owe this luxurious breakfast to?” I ask while getting up.  
“I think I have something to make up to you,” he confesses. “See, I read your letter.”  
“What letter?” I ask in confusion, but then I remember. “No, did I leave it open on the table? Sorry, you shouldn't have read that! I… It was just..."  
"Sorwen, listen," he interrupts me calmly, "don't be sorry. You are right to feel this way, I understand. I know I make it tough for you, and I am more than grateful you have come along. I've bought this breakfast for you to make up for how I made you feel."  
"Really?" I said in disbelief. "You did this for me?” I say as I throw myself at him. “Thank you,” I say with tears in my eyes.  
“No, thank you,” he replies with me in his arms. “Come, let’s have breakfast before it gets cold. We can talk about this further afterward.”

The breakfast was simply delicious. As we lean back with another cup of tea, he starts talking about his condition again. “What do you think has happened to me?”  
“I don’t know. I have no idea how the metal could have gone into your body. As for your black-outs, I suspect they are somehow related. If they are not related, then I think you are possessed by someone or something. At least those black-outs are not a result of Illusion spells, judging from your comments.”  
"How do you know?  
"When one is influenced by an Illusion spell, his behavior is altered. They can become calm, more violent or afraid for example. But they can remember everything," I explain, "which isn't the case for you."  
“Wait, how do you mean ‘possessed by something’?” he asks.  
“I don’t know, maybe you have struck a deal with a Daedra? But there is no way to know that, besides visiting every shrine of the Daedric Princes. Let’s not do that,” I say nervously.  
“Why not? If we can make a deal with them, we…”  
“No!” I interrupt him. “Have you not heard what happened in the abandoned house in Markarth? Or what happened with Brother Verulus at the incident at the Hall of the Dead? I will gladly help you, but if we go anywhere near a daedric shrine, I’m out.”  
We remain silent for quite some time. “Sorry I lashed out,” I apologize after a while. "It's just… After those events, I became pretty scared. So please, if we need to contact a Daedra..."  
"I'll confront them alone, don't worry."  
"Thanks," I say sheepishly.

We drink our tea and leave the inn to go to Jorrvaskr. We walk quickly as we see dark clouds heading from the west. We enter the mead hall of the Companions as the first raindrops hit the pavement. The Companions don't notice us, rather watch a fistfight between a Nord woman and a Dunmer man. The Altmer man (ugh, I really need to know his name) walks towards the group of spectators with more confidence than I have, and speak to a spectator. "Hey, who is in charge around here?" he asks demandingly.  
I can't believe what I hear. "Please, soften your tone," I whisper, pulling him back. "These men and women can take us down easily. Don't antagonize them!"  
But the man he spoke to breaks out in laughter. "Haha, we won't kill you, milady. We're mercenaries, not straight-up murderers. You don't have to fear us.  
As for you," he says while turning to him, "I like you. You have a fire in your heart. To answer your question, I'm in charge of me, and you are in charge of you. But if you want to join up, Kodlak is the one to be talking to. You can find him below."  
We thank him and head down the stairs. At the end of the hall, we see two men sitting at a table.  
"But I still hear the call of the blood," the younger man of the two speaks.  
"We all do. It's our burden to bear. But we can overcome," the older one answers.  
"You have my brother and I, obviously. But I don't know if the rest will go along quite so easily."  
"Leave that to me."  
Meanwhile, we arrive at the table, and he jumps right to the chase. "I want to join the Companions."  
I roll with my eyes. He should really work on his conversation skills if he wants to reach something. Then again, this makes him also kinda cute.  
“Would you now? Here, let me have a look at you. Hm. Yes, perhaps. A certain strength of spirit.”  
“Master, you’re not truly considering accepting him?” the younger companion commented in disbelief.  
“I’m nobody’s master, Vilkas. And last I checked, we had some empty beds in Jorrvaskr for those with a fire burning in their hart.”  
“Apologies. But perhaps this isn’t the time. Besides, I’ve never even heard of this outsider.”  
“Sometimes the famous come to us. Sometimes men and women come to us to seek their fame. It makes no difference. What matters is their heart.”  
“And their arm.”  
“Of course. How are you in a battle, boy?”  
I glance at him, and he is not pleased by being called a ‘boy’. “I’ve killed a dragon on my own yesterday, so I think that is enough evidence.”  
“We shall see. This is Vilkas. He will test your arm,” he says to him. And to his fellow Companion, he says: “Vilkas, take him out to the yard, and see what he can do.”  
“Aye.”

I follow Vilkas and him outside to the practice field behind the mead hall. As I see them positioning themselves across each other, I notice the difference between the two. One is a warrior, has a sword, shield, and armor, and moves around like he is born in it. The other is a mage, has presumably never fought with a weapon before (I don't count the dragon, that wasn't him), and prepares a fire spell with his robed arms.  
"What do you think this is?" Vilkas stops him. "We don't do battle with magic around here, new blood. Now come at me!"  
Vilkas' opponent is visibly not happy with this but nonetheless exchanges his flames for the axe. He swings it but lacks the strength to do it properly. “Come on, I ain’t your mother. Hit me!” Vilkas taunts him. I see him trying, but his fighting style doesn’t improve.  
Then Vilkas makes the mistake to poke him with the tip of his sword. The moment he does that, I see something changing in the yellow Altmer eyes. He holds his axe more tightly, and with one mighty blow, he shatters Vilkas’ shield.  
“Wow, that is one hell of a blow,” he comments. Then the axe swings at him again, which he can barely block with his sword. “Okay, that’s enough.” But he doesn’t listen, and the next blow knocks Vilkas sideways, exposing his neck.  
“No!” I scream, but it is too late. With one swing, Vilkas’ head is separated from his body.  
I cannot believe my eyes. How could someone do that, even if he wasn’t himself?  
Meanwhile, guards have heard my scream and came running with drawn swords. The first one rushes recklessly at him but has to pay for that mistake with his life. The others approach him slowly but don't dare to engage, fearing for their own lives.  
Only he isn't afraid. He charges in as if he is in a berserker rage. He swings the axe at the first neck, but in a reflex I cast a paralysis spell on him, making the axe stop mid-swing, saving the guard's life. "Quick," I yell, "disarm him and bind his arms and legs!"  
Two guards move forward, take the axe from his hand and hogtie him with a set of chains. I stand at the sideline, watching emotionlessly at the imprisonment. As I hear the last click of the shackles, he starts moving violently, trying to break out of the chains. "Please don't move," I say with tears in my eyes. "The only reason you are alive is that you can't fight right now." Then the guards lift him up and leave for the prison. 

Feeling empty inside, I stumble back to the inn. I sit down by the fire and bury my face in my hands. I know it wasn’t him who killed the Companion. But I can’t shake it.  
I sit there for hours. Townfolk’s chatter passes by me without noticing a word. Shades float around in my line of sight, but I can’t distinguish any shapes. Suddenly, I feel a metal hand on my back. “How are you holding up?” I hear a deep voice ask.  
I look up and through my tears, I recognize Kodlak, the old man of the Companions. “I am so sorry,” I stammer, unable to say anything more.  
“Thank you,” he says gratefully. “I understand you saw something horrific. But you were the only one who saw everything. I would like to know what happened out there, for my Shield-Brothers and -Sisters.”  
“No, please,” I cry.  
“It’s okay,” he tries to calm me. “We found Vilkas and the blooded axe of your friend. I can only conclude he killed Vilkas. I just hope that it was an accident and that Vilkas had an honorable death.”  
I shake my head. “No, I’m sorry,” I answer his question. “Vilkas was slaughtered.” Seeing no option, I tell Kodlak with immense guilt about his duality. “The man who you spoke to was no warrior, but also wouldn’t kill Vilkas any other way. But when Vilkas pierced him with his sword, he changed to the other man. And that man is a warrior. With one blow, Vilkas’ shield shattered in many pieces. And then…” I start crying again.  
He takes off his gauntlets and puts an arm around me. “Thank you for your honesty. I only don’t understand why a mage then wants to join the Companions. Has he spoken about it?”  
Thinking about my great-uncle’s request, I first don’t want to answer, but I already spilled too many beans. “We heard a rumor the Companions also deal with a certain duality. The call of the blood you spoke about maybe? We hoped that he could learn to control his duality as you do.”  
“I’m sorry, we can’t help your friend. I wish you the best with figuring out, but please don’t let him near Jorrvaskr again. I can hold my emotions fairly well under control, but some of my brothers and sisters can’t. Approaching our mead hall can only lead to more deaths. If you, however, feel the need to talk with me about it, you are always welcome.”  
“Thank you,” I say, as I feel my heart beating slower.

Kodlak then leaves the inn to report the news to his fellow Companions, and I decide to do the impossible. I walk up to the Cloud district, to the prison. I approach his cell, and I see the hatred in his eyes. “Traitor,” he snaps at me.  
I feel tears well up in my eyes, but I don’t give him the pleasure of seeing those. “If you didn’t kill him, I wouldn’t have done what I did,” I dispute. “This situation is all your fault. If you hadn’t taken over, Vilkas would be alive, and you would be free.”  
“He attacked me!”  
“He tested you to see if you were fit for the Companions!” I shout at him. “You and I both can heal those little wounds. Because you couldn’t keep yourself in check, you've killed an innocent man.”  
I can see the realization hit him. “I made a mistake.”  
“No kidding.”  
“How can I make it right to them?”  
“You can’t. You killed a member of the Companions. Don’t expect them to forgive you.” After some thought, I continue. “Maybe you can do something so great, that the people of Whiterun will forgive you. But that should wait for many years, since you’re locked u-.”  
“Cut my finger,” he interrupts me.  
“What?” I ask in confusion.  
“You have a knife, right? Cut my finger. I can free myself.”  
I don’t believe him, but I comply nonetheless. He sticks out his finger through the metal bars and I make a small cut. Then he moves his finger in front of the lock and metal grows out of his finger! The metal moves into the lock, then I hear a click, and the door slides open. “Let’s kill some dragons,” he exclaims.


End file.
